So How do we Get Home Again?
by laughs I moved to a new thing
Summary: After the incident with the Jabberwocky, the residents of Underland will get more than they bargained for when they are transported to modern day Upperland. T for language and possible later chapters. Possibly slight AU?
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, I rewrote the chapter. It is now completely different than what it was before, but my writing in this chapter was much, much better. Enjoy! Notes are at the bottom.**

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><p>The day after Frabjous day was not a particularly hectic one. The entire population was at rest after their incredible fright at their previous "leader's" totalitarian ways, and they were happy to have a perfectly harmless, pleasant, beautiful ruler once again. It was an absolutely delightful feeling to be able to step outside of whatever one would use as a home without being worried about being arrested for unjust things.<p>

However, there was one person who was in more despair now that the Champion of Underland had finally evacuated the premises. He sat at a long tea table, with only a dormouse, a scraggly hare, and, at certain times, a cat who would try his hand at anything to get his hands—or paws, perhaps?—on the top hat of the royal hatter.

The mid-sized clearing was nearly abandoned at this hour in particular. Only a very depressed and particularly out of character hatter sat at the head of the tea table in a high-back chair, arms crossed across his chest and head bowed low in despair. Although the five individuals who had entered the glade could not see it, a single, translucent tear slithered down his pale white cheek.

The queen, Mirana of Marmoreal, walked a few steps closer to the end of the table opposite the hatter. Her voice was, as expected, kind as she spoke to the poor, disheartened man. "Pardon my intrusion, my dear Tarrant. I do hope I am not interrupting anything." Mirana did not receive an answer, which, along with his nonmoving posture and a nod from the dormouse who accompanied her, caused the queen to believe that she was not intervening. "Nivens has reported that Alice—" Tarrant's head snapped up at the mention of the champion's name, "—has returned to Upperland safely. I supposed that you would like to hear this good news. In addition, she has denied the hand of the dreadful man who had asked for her hand before her appearance in Underland. However, I've no idea why she would give it any thought. He seems to be an absolutely awful man—"

Mirana was cut off at the sight of the orange-haired man stepping over various things on the table. He placed his hands on each of the queen's shoulders, pushing her to the edge of the clearing until her back hit a tree bordering the clearing. He began speaking under his breath, quickly and quietly. The two guards who had chaperoned Mirana and her two companions quickly tensed, only relaxing ever-so to a tiny smile playing on the queen's lips.

The hatter continued his rambling, a bit more audible, "…You mean it? She's not—oh, well this is fantastic. If she is coming back, I'll have to make her her very own hat. Oh, what colour do you think would look most wonderful on her? A shade of blue, most certainly, but there are so many—azure, cobalt, sapphire, navy, powder blue, midnight blue, Prussian blue, electric blue, indigo even if that one is rather purpley, royal blue, ice-blue, baby blue, robin's egg blue, peacock blue, aquamarine, steel blue, slate blue, cyan, cerulean—Now, quite frankly, I think that an aquamarine would be quite fitting. Although perhaps a slightly darker shade of baby blue, or would that not look quite right? Certainly, if all else fails, I shall resort to cerulean. Whichever would match the dress she wore when she returned to Underland the time she slew the jabberwocky…Or…Is she even coming back? How do you know she refused him? Are you saying it just to make me feel better? Your highness, with all due respect, if you are, in fact, just saying this without any evidence, then by the name of—"

"'Atta'!"

"By the name of…fez…" The hatter took a moment and swallowed once, getting his thoughts clear. He removed his hands from the queen, his head visibly spinning. "I'm fine. Thank you, Mally… My apologies, your highness…"

The tiny mouse shook her head. "You're hopeless."

A smile spread across the queen's face. "No worries, Tarrant. What I say is the truth. I have received this information directly from our very own Nivens, who I'm sure would be glad to tell you everything."

"Certainly, your highness." The rabbit opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Mirana gently rested her hand atop his head.

"Why don't we speak over tea at the castle? I'm sure it would be better than standing in the open, where there may or may not be any vestiges of my sister's army," Mirana suggested, looking to each of her subjects. They all were quiet for a moment, until the white rabbit spoke in a somewhat tentative tone.

"I'm sure, your highness, that we would be perfectly well off, but whatever you wish."

The group of six began to make their way out of the clearing, when a purring tone stopped them in their tracks. "Have you room for another?" A moment's silence passed through the group. A large cat materialized in the air in front of them in dark blue and purple smoke.

"Hello there, Chesh. Might I ask you if you would care to join us? We're going to discuss what happened to the champion once she returned to Upperland." Nivens looked up at Mirana in a request for permission. "If it's alright with her highness, as may be expected."

"Might I, your majesty? I'll only join you if it's all right with you." The Cheshire cat grinned his signature, toothy grin.

Mirana smiled warmly. "Certainly. You are more than welcome. Come, we shall have tea at my castle."

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><p><strong>So yeah. That's all there really is to it. I'm going to have two more chapters up soon, sometime after Thursday (I'm uploading another story then which I REALLY need to work on soon…) so perhaps Friday. Or Saturday. My grade is taking a trip to one of the colleges in the state. Oh, I'll post an updating schedule on my profile within the next day or so.<strong>

**So anyway, I apologise for my ranting. Leave a review and you will get a (virtual) slice of pie! :D**

**Notes:  
><strong>- I have no idea if Nivens follows Alice to Upperland where she refuses Hamish and does (her version of) the Futterwacken, but let's say, for the sake of this story, that he does. :)  
>- It's sort of my own head-canon that Mirana would speak a bit more properly than the rest of the cast.<br>- Oh Tarrant, you and your long ranting. Did you like what I did with the blue? I went onto the thesaurus app on my laptop (I use a Mac) and typed in "blue" and just copied and pasted what showed up. I took out a couple, like Cambridge blue, because I don't think someone from Underland would know what Cambridge is. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING! I HAVE REWRITTEN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. BEFORE READING THIS ONE, PLEASE REREAD THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. IF YOU HAVE NOT, THIS CHAPTER WILL NOT MAKE ANY SENSE. THANK YOU.**

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><p>Night had finally fallen, and those who did not make their stay in the White Castle—namely Tarrant, Malliumpkin, and the Cheshur cat—had departed the premises. Those remaining—Mirana, Nivens, and the two guards—had withdrawn into their respective rooms for the night.<p>

"I bid you a good night, your majesty." The dressing maid, a young, human girl with honey brown hair and brilliant blue eyes, bowed at her waist and left the queen to her sleep.

Mirana sat on the chair in front of her bureau, gazing into the elaborately framed mirror that was perched on the flat top. She stared for a moment after setting the ornate hairbrush in front of the mirror.

There were times when she did not want to be the queen of Underland. She sometimes wanted to be at least relatively normal, live a normal girl's life without having to bear the responsibility of the whole of Underland on her shoulders. Yes, she enjoyed being near pampered and having pretty things to wear. She loved that she was respected by everyone in Underland. But most of all, she took the utmost pleasure in having her dearest friends earning their keep close to her—Tarrant as her royal hatter, Nivens as what one might describe as her personal secretary, and the others working their own various jobs.

Still, she couldn't help but wish. All girls had the almost necessity to wish, right?

With that final thought, she crawled into her bed and drifted into a deep sleep.

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><p><strong>Yes, short chapter is short. So yeah, I hope you liked it. Please review! :D<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Part 1**

_All around her is darkness. She wanders, searching for something, of which she cannot recall its exact detail in her memory. However, she knows it is important. Possibly life threatening, even, if she does not find what it is she is looking for._

_She runs for what seems like hours more, when she suddenly finds herself in a meadow, not completely unlike that of the hatter's. This one possesses a thick canopy, of which very little light is able to shine through. There is, however, despite the tiny breaks in the leaves, a large beam of light, as white as Upperland's snow. It shows from a large opening in the leaves, and looks as though it could break its way through the ground, and go for even longer._

_She takes a cautious step forward, one after another, heels gently clicking against the stones on the ground, until the beam is in arm's reach. Curious, she stretches out a hand to touch it. But, just as she is within a centimetre of the beam, she trips over a tree's root that sticks up, creating a half-loop with the ground. The toe of her shoe is caught under the loop, and she stumbles into the beam with a small shriek._

_As she falls, seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours, to days, weeks…_

…and she wakes with a jerk just before hitting the ground.

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><p><strong>Part 2<strong>

_He can see nothing. As far as he is concerned, he is in a pitch black room. _

_With no one around. _

_Alone._

_Yes, alone. This is all that he is. Solely because he is mad._

_But he can't help who he is. No one can. So, if this is the case, why is he singled out? Is it because of his strange hair colour? Oh, most certainly not. The queen's hair is even more uncommon than his own, and she is treated with the utmost respect. Then again, she is also royalty. Perhaps if she was a normal Underland citizen she would be treated the same as he?_

_No. Of course not. She is much too lovely to be treated badly. He knows that. So why did the thought pass through his head?_

_Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he notices a tiny, human-shaped form. It is coloured relatively lightly, but has a dark aura about it. As it comes nearer, its details become more pronounced, showing a rather creepy man with greasy black hair and an eye-patch. _

_Ilosavic Stayne._

_He wonders idly how his pursuer's silhouette was so tiny just a moment ago, yet now is as large as ever. Yes, it is larger than in waking hours, but this is a dream, he remembers, and ceases his wondering._

"_Well, quite fancy meeting you here," Stayne says, his words slithering from his mouth, polite yet partially bloodcurdling, "my dear Tarrant. Why, may I ask, have you shown up here?"_

_When Stayne does not receive an answer, he lifts his large foot off the dark ground and forces it against Tarrant's cheek. Despite being a dream, the pain is worse than the hatter has experienced before, and he wonders why he has yet to wake._

"_I will ask once more." Stayne's words are as smooth as silk, yet they give Tarrant chills down his spine. The knave speaks, reiterating his previous question, speaking slowly and enunciating as though speaking to a small child, "Why…have you…shown up here?"_

_Tarrant still refuses to speak. He does not know the answer to this question himself, of course, but does not want the banished knave knowing such a fact._

"_Not speaking, are we? I see, then, how it must be." The tall man walks a few steps from Tarrant, back-to, and then turns to face him once more. "If you will not speak, do you know what will happen to you?" Why does his voice sound so…soft and…gentle…? Are those correct words to describe such tones?_

_Tarrant still refuses to speak, even going so far as to turn his face from the former knave. Stayne sees this, his face darkening, and takes a couple long strides, bending down so that his face now mere centimetres from the hatter's. He grasps the shorter man's chin between his thumb and forefinger, and begins speaking in a harsh, soft tone. "If you do not speak when spoken to, there is no way you will make it where you are going. Do you hear me, hatter? You will grow old and alone, and die some oh-so-__**terrible**__ fate, like that family of yours."_

_Memories of Tarrant's family flash before his eyes. His mother, father, younger sister, his cousins, and the rest of the Hightopp clan. Happy. Smiling, even. They leave as soon as they come as images of the Horvundush Day flash before Tarrant's eyes. _

"_Do you see that?" the knave asks, a glint of amusement at the hatter's visible suffering in his eye. He grips Tarrant's chin harder now, squeezing until it almost hurts Stayne himself. "Yes, do you feel that? That pain – the agonizing torture, knowing that you cannot see them again? Yes, think on it for a moment…remember that you will __**never see them again**__!" The knave's voice rises, and he retracts his fist. Without a second thought, he brings it forward with all his might, and it collides with the hatter's temple. He is sent flying to the grassy earth – he wonders when the pitch black room became a lush green forest – and coughs. Blood is splattered on the ground, and Tarrant can taste the metallic liquid in his mouth as it comes up._

"…_dy git…" _

_The sound hardly hits Stayne's ears, but he knows that it comes from the hatter. "What…was that?" _

"_Bloody__…git…" Tarrant repeats himself, louder this time, enunciating slightly as a mockery of __the knave._

_Stayne's lips pull up into a tiny smirk, menacing and positively terrifying. Tarrant would probably be frightened otherwise, but this is a dream, he reminds himself. Yet, somehow, this feels more real than reality itself, as though the question of "why is a raven like a writing desk?" is given a logical answer._

"_You are really going to regret that, dear hatter. Your precious Alice will have no choice but to surrender to me, leaving you alone, with no female counterpart, no friends, and no family."_

_He's bringing the family thing up again? Tarrant chuckles quietly despite the situation, causing Stayne to slowly grow angrier and angrier. He slowly reaches for his dagger, the only actual weapon on his person, and begins taking slow, careful steps until he is almost on top of the hatter._

_Really, must I offer him something for his breath? Tarrant wonders silently, flinching away from the stench. The knave doesn't notice, leaning in loser still and crushing his lips against Tarrant's. He fights at first, until Stayne pulls his head back, punching him in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him. Tarrant gasps for air, an action of which Stayne takes advantage of. He crashes his lips against the hatter's once more, sliding his too-long tongue into the hatter's mouth, roaming around and exploring each and every nook and cranny._

_Tarrant bites down hard – as hard as he can, until he tastes the wet, coppery liquid, no doubt coming from the knave this time. Stayne, in effect, screeches, trying to pry his tongue from the shorter, weaker man. He gets it out from between Tarrant's teeth after kicking the orange-haired man in the gut, causing him to let out a scream as Stayne staggers back a few steps. Tarrant's scream was small and rather quiet, but the pain in Stayne's tongue subsided for a few moments in his amusement._

_Whoever had told Tarrant that you can't be hurt in dreams, had obviously been wrong._

_Tarrant tries standing for the first time since the dream began, using the newly appeared tree behind him to support his weight. Stayne smirks, knowing that the hatter won't be able to do so, and walkwszs to stand in front of the weakened man once more. _

_Stayne smiled sweetly now – something Tarrant didn't know he was capable of – and spoke in a soft, calming voice, "You won't be able to stand, dear Tarrant. Your legs are much too weak."_

_Tarrant shudders at the thought of Stayne speaking in a calming voice, and continues to attempt to stand. "Wh-what are you…t-talking about? M-my legs…feel just fine…"_

_Stayne smiles again, the same sweet, mocking smile that he'd shown Tarrant just a moment ago. He lifts his dagger close to his face, admiring the sharp blade as it shined in the light that broke through the trees of the dream-forest. "You really could not have chosen a worse word choice." While Tarrant ponders what the knave means by his statement, Stayne lifts the dagger above his head and brings it down with great force, thrusting it into Tarrant's thigh. Tarrant screams in sheer agony, and falls to the ground with a loud _thud_. Still smiling, Stayne rips the dagger from Tarrant's limb and looks down at it, now glistening red with newly drawn blood. He runs his tongue over the dull edge, tasting the crimson liquid. Stayne smiles once more, kneeling so that he and Tarrant are at the same level and puts his lips against Tarrant's earlobe, nibbling slightly at the flesh, and whispers slowly, "You're going to die, hatter…and I shall be your killer."_

_What? But this is only a dream turned nightmare. How can he die?_

_The hatter's question is answered as Stayne lifts his dagger once more, holding it close to Tarrant's neck. He presses the dull edge, the edge that he had licked the blood off from, to Tarran't neck. The blood left on the blade is stamped onto Tarrant's skin. It lingers in the same spot for a moment, Stayne watching closely, and, in the blink of an eye, flips the blade so that the sharp edge is now pressing onto Tarrant's skin, but keeps little pressure on it – he doesn't want Tarrant's neck to be slit just yet. He wants to draw it out, make him suffer…_

_No. It's not worth it. He is forced to live every day until his very existence falters, being the end of the Hightopp clan, without his beloved Champion. He is deep in love – not that he knows exactly what love is, per se – and he can see her never more. He is forced to live with the guilt of never telling her what he feels, cliché as it is, and _that_ is just the kind of pain that the ex-knave wants to inflict. Physical pain – most of it, at least the kind he was inflicting on Tarrant – heals with time. Emotional pain never heals. It would be just _so terrible_ if Tarrant never healed from this dream turned nightmare._

_So if that's the case… why put him out of his misery now? _

_That would be the _kind_ thing to do, that's why. _

_And Stayne is nothing if not the heartless killer he should be, showing compassion only for his Queen._

_\With a final smirk, Stayne turns on his heel and walks, carelessly lifting and tossing the dagger over his shoulder. Little does he know, it was aimed straight for Tarrant's face, which is what the hatter himself learns when he gazes up at the sky gratefully. He notices the shiny, pointy object, coming down where it will land on his face, sharp side facing Tarrant, as it plummets downward, towards Tarrant's face. He watches, unable to move due to the stab wound in his leg from earlier, taking death as it comes, plunging quickly through the air, coming within a millimetre from his face, and…_

…he wakes up just before the dagger penetrates his skin once more; jolting into a sitting position, he clutches his hat to his chest as though his life depends on it.

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><p><strong><strong>Ahh! I am so, so terribly sorry for not updating in, like, what? Four months? I dunno. Maybe. See, at the end of the school year, we had to hand our school-issued laptops back in, and because of the crapish economy, there was little money for gas for our car to get to the library so I could upload. When the school year started back up, we were supposed to get our laptops back, like, the third week of school or something, but there <strong>was an issue with my laptop (that we _finally_ got sorted out), so I couldn't get it for another few weeks. Anything after that is simply laziness.**

**Please excuse the crappiness that is part one of this chapter. **

**The next chapter may take a while to write, but definitely not four months. I'm just warning you right now. I've got other stories, school, a life (or lack thereof) that I need to take care of, so please bear with me.**


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